Stay with me, baby stay with me
Tonight don't leave me alone
He sat by her side continuously, the way she had once done for him, only he didn't dare touch her - there were so few parts of her that weren't healing. He only left when the doctors came to treat her new skin, or when her mother came and asked for a few minutes, but even then he didn't go far, preferring to linger in the halls and wait until he could resume his vigil. At first, the doctors had tried to make him leave, but they soon gave up, perhaps realizing that he would physically fight them to stay by her side, if that's what it came down to.
He let himself cry once, when he first saw her and the fear that she was gone had overwhelmed him. The tears had flown for ages then, everything that he had kept inside during the last few years clambering for release, but when it was done, he felt exposed, like prey vulnerable to her arrow. After that, he spent the time sitting next to her hating himself for what he suspected he had done, and trying to memorize her face, because one of these days it was going to be the last time he saw her. Either she's going to let go, and that'll be the end, or she'll wake up and hate him for what he caused, and he'll never see her again.
Her heart rate dips, slowing like she's giving up, and he can't take it, reaching out instinctively to touch her, large hands barely brushing her skin as they cradle her face. It's enough to make her heart spike again, returning to its normal rhythm, and he lets out a sigh of relief.
"Gale…" she sighs, barely audible, and he looks up immediately, hoping beyond hope that she's awake, but he heart falls into his stomach when he sees her eyes still closed, without any sign of movement. He doesn't even let himself think about what it means, because everything is going to change when she realizes that it's all his fault, he just lets himself think about how it's good because if she's talking that's one step closer to waking up and if she wakes up, even if she hates him (which she will), she'll be alive, and that's so much better than the alternative.
"Come on, Katniss," he growls, "just wake up."
He's not sure how many days it's been when someone forces him to go eat a real meal, something other that the cold canned soup he still had in a bundle under his massive overcoat when they set out that last morning. While he's sitting in the kitchen, a nurse pokes her head around the door to tell him that Katniss is finally, finally awake, and even as his heart leaps a mile high, the food in his mouth turns to ash and he can't seem to make himself move. Because now that he knows she is going to live, he can't bring himself to face her pain, can't force himself to see the hatred in her eyes. He knows it will be there - hatred, and hurt, and anger, because the one person who was always supposed to protect her family let her down, and he doesn't think she will ever forgive him for it. He's never going to forgive himself.
He finds tasks to do, addresses all the things he's been ignoring for days, for as long as he can, trying desperately to avoid her room, to ease the ache in his heart that's already started to come from not having her around, but he has to get used to it. But eventually, the time comes that he can't put it off any longer, and he stands outside her closed door, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he will meet inside. He just wants her to know that he never meant for this to happen, that he didn't know, that he hates himself more than she will ever hate him. He craves her forgiveness, and he can't help the tiny seedling of hope in his heart that she won't be angry with him.
Please Katniss, he thinks to himself, hand poised on the door handle, stay with me. Don't turn away. Don't leave me alone.